


He loves me not.

by Myheartisblack



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Aziraphale takes a while to come around, Crowley centric, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Pining Idiots, They love each other, and a dumb dense angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 02:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19075717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myheartisblack/pseuds/Myheartisblack
Summary: Crowley felt nothing but anxious hysteria looking at the bloody petals in his hand. He threw them one by one on the floor while crying and whispering the words “I love him, he loves me not” as each petal landed. This had to be one big cruel joke..... right?





	He loves me not.

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to write only angst oof. I’m saying sorry now because this idea came to me at 2am yesterday and I literally cried while writing this. Anyways I hope you enjoy! Sorry if you cry! :)

It was a normal day in Crowley’s flat. He was just doing his rounds of watering his plants after having taken two daffodils to the upstairs portion of his garden on the roof.

 

Lying through his sharp teeth he told the gorgeous green plants they were goners although he had a faint sense they knew he was bluffing. When he felt a tingle in his throat he froze.

 

Shrugging he ignored it and carried on throughout his tasks of cleaning his flat. Coughing a couple times and not noticing the bloody small purple petals in his wake.

 

After adjusting his kitchen stools his yellow eyes beamed with pride . That tingling in his throat was back worse than ever. Scrunching his eyebrows up he coughed into his fist. He froze completely still.

 

A singular ,bloody ,medium sized petal lay in his palm. Crowley blinked at the sight and wearily touched his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Alarmed he felt the copper taste of blood there.

 

With an alarmingly fast pace he retract his steps and found small petals scattered where he was before. With shaky clawed hands he scooped them all in a jar he picked up and sat down.

 

After steadying his shaking hands he took a quick picture and asked Seri what type of flowers these were. Crowley’s skin took an ashy white color as he gazed at the screen. Proudly displayed was the words hydrangea :meaning heartfelt. 

 

After taking a few slow serpentine blinks, he calmly grabbed a glass before shattering it against the wall. He grabbed two bottles of strong alcohol and slid down the wall of his living room. 

 

He was a sight to behold surely. Chugging liquor like a doctor was going to saw one of his limbs off. A jar of purple petals stained with blood. A shaky, dissociating, demon who every other swallow would spit out a new petal.

 

Crowley thanked whoever fucking responsible for inventing google, as he pulled it open and typed in “why the fuck am I coughing up flowers?” Then he breathed deeply, needing it desperately for someone who didn’t need to breathe in the first place, and retyped “why am I coughing up flowers ?”

 

Hanahaki disease it said. And for the next four hours he read and read until his poor eyes burned. He read everything he could get his snake eyes on.

 

Oh. He realized with a heavy heat. O h he realized with a sense of pure pain. Unrequited love he bitterly thought. Laughing emptily staring into space whispering the words over and over again.

 

What a way to go? Wouldn’t it be funny? Choking to death on flowers all because a sorry excuse for a demon loved a sorrow excuse for an angel. Both sides were probably laughing and munching their popcorn right now.

 

Crowley curled into a small ball feeling the weight of every petal inside this human, frail , weak body. With a sudden clarity he realized he didn’t mind dying for his angel. 

 

Tears of pure anguish and hellfire streaked their way down his face. A gruesome and misplaced smile sat on the demons handsome face. He would die a million times over for his angel.

 

For a split second Crowley glanced into the next room at the painting of the Mona Lisa he had. Or more accurately what was behind it. He debated on grabbing the holy water and just swigging it .

 

He let out an even hysterical laugh realizing that no matter what happens to him he would always love Zira. No body, new body, new shape, different century. None of that matter when it came to his love.

 

The demon who temped Eve would always love the Principality angel sent to earth. With every fiber in his evil, wicked being. 

 

With slightly blood stained claws he carefully picked his phone up and texted Zira. He cancelled their date, who was he kidding it was unrequited love for fucks sake it wasn’t a date, and told Zira something has come up and he couldn’t make it.

 

With a cracking heart he finished it by saying maybe they could do a rain check .Throwing caution to the wind he signed it with love you angel, see you soon. In a fit of manic anxiety and helplessness he threw his phone so hard against the opposite wall it shattered into plastic pieces.

 

Execution via angel thought the tired , hopelessly in love demon. Execution by loving an angel thought a sad, anxious , good demon . It didn’t matter in the end did it? 

 

They had their roles to play and it didn’t matter that maybe the flowers would kill him for good. Because as gruesome as it was they were proof that a demon so wicked as him was capable of love.

 

.....No matter if that being loved him back or not. There was no force who could stop him from loving his angel. Crowley only hoped that Aziraphale knew he was loved even when he was gone.


End file.
